


I Would Hold You Here With Me

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden, unexpected burst of cold weather brings a rapidly spreading sickness to Winterfell, and the Lady of the castle falls desperately ill.</p><p>Written for the Ship of Ice and Fire challenge, "illness" prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Hold You Here With Me

“Will she survive?”

The maester bowed low over Catelyn’s bed, his ear pressed against her chest, listening for something. He made no response to the inquiry.

“Will she survive?” Ned Stark repeated more loudly, his voice as hard and cold as ice. He could barely stand to look at his wife’s too still form lying there, and he steeled himself against Luwin’s response.

“I do not know, my lord,” the man said finally, and Ned felt an icy hand begin to close around his heart.

“But you said the children will all recover. Surely, she suffers from the same contagion.” His voice sounded cool, almost frosty to his own ears and he wondered how it could possibly be so when his heart pounded fearfully in his chest and he found it hard to breathe. _Your lord’s voice, my love._ The lilting, teasing voice he heard in his head caused the icy hand to squeeze his heart more tightly, and he refused to look at the pale woman on the bed for fear his heart would stop beating altogether.

Maester Luwin looked up at him then, concern and sympathy in the man’s eyes. “The Lady Catelyn most certainly suffers the same illness, my lord, but your children, sick as they were, seemed to suffer the less virulent form. I cannot explain why the same contagion affects some more than others, but you have seen for yourself how it does. Lady Catelyn had neither eaten nor slept much at all since Arya first fell ill. Mayhaps her weakened state allowed the sickness to take greater hold.”

 _Weakened state_ , Ned thought bitterly. _How did I allow this to happen?_ “Damn you, Cat,” he muttered under his breath. “Damn your stubborn Tully heart.”

The maester affected not to have heard him. “She is quiet for now, my lord, and I must see to the others in the castle who are ill. I have shown her maid what to do for her should the coughing fit come upon her again. She will stay here until I can return.”

“I will stay,” Ned said in that same icy voice.

“My lord, surely you must . . .”

“I will stay by my wife, Maester Luwin.”

He had not stayed by the children. He’d had too many things to attend to. Oh, he’d come to see them as frequently as his other responsibilities allowed, but it had been Catelyn who’d remained with them day and night as one after the other fell sick after Arya. _Even Jon,_ he thought guiltily. When Jon and Robb had started with the fever and crushing headache on the same day, she’d put them in the same room and tended them both. It was undoubtedly the most time she had spent with the boy in all his nine years, but when he had offered to have someone else tend Jon, she had looked him directly in his eyes and said, “You have raised our son to think of the boy as his brother, my lord. Robb fares better with the bastard for company than he does alone, and I would have our son as content as possible until he recovers. Likely, the boy does better for being with Robb as well. I can tend both as easily as I can tend Robb alone.”

She never spoke Jon’s name aloud to him if she could help it and never spoke to Jon at all unless it was absolutely required, but he’d seen her hold a cool rag to the boy’s face as his fever soared and heard her murmur comforting words to the child in his delirium, similar to those she gave to Robb. “There, Jon,” he’d heard her whisper. “You’ll be all right. You’ll be all right.” He wondered if Jon would have any memory of it once he fully recovered.

The two older boys had been the last of the children to become sick, falling ill a full eight days after Arya. Arya had been the sickest of all of them, and there had been at least three days that both he and Catelyn feared she would not survive. The coughing fits had shaken the four year old girl’s entire body, and her fever had burned almost ceaselessly for an entire week. Often, she hadn’t seemed to know who anyone was, and she cried out with pain in her head or throat or arms or legs almost all the time she was awake. She seemed nearly well now, although still weakened. Her fever had broken the day before Robb’s and Jon’s had started.

Bran fell sick just three days after Arya so Catelyn had brought him to Arya’s room in order to care for both of them. Thankfully, the toddler had never been as sick as his sister, although his cries were pitiful. He would take no food at all, but had wanted to nurse at Catelyn’s teat almost constantly which added a significant burden to his wife’s already heavy load as Arya was at her sickest then. The child had been nearly weaned and normally took a cup very well, but Cat would not deny him while he was ill. And Ned had not pushed her to do less.

Six year old Sansa had gotten ill after Bran but before the older boys, although Ned honestly could not remember precisely when. By that time, it seemed half the population of the castle had fallen ill, and the first deaths had already occurred. While most victims of the contagion suffered the fever, cough, body pains, and fatigue like his children, some began to labor with their breathing as their lungs filled with fluid. Blood would appear in their phlegm and sputum. Very few of these recovered. Most died, gasping for air and unable to take it in. As the numbers of the ill and dead increased, Ned had found himself attempting to organize makeshift infirmaries and find enough healthy men to bury the dead in addition to keeping the castle running without enough able bodied men to do so. He’d scarcely seen his older daughter during her illness, but Catelyn had assured him that she had suffered only a mild case compared to Arya and the older boys. He did know that she and Bran now seemed even more fully recovered than Arya did.

By the fourth day of Robb’s and Jon’s fevers, the contagion seemed to be lessening its grip on Winterfell. Very few new victims were reported and there had been only two death in the castle that day. Increasing numbers of men who had been ill had recovered enough to return to their duties. He’d looked for Catelyn that night and found her in the older boys’ room sitting on Robb’s bed with the child’s head in her lap. Jon had been asleep in his bed. He recalled thinking she had more color in her cheeks than she’d had for days. Bitterly, he now realized that had likely been from fever.

“They sleep, my love,” she’d said softly. “How fares the rest of Winterfell?”

“Better,” he’d told her. “I think we are finally near the end of this, Cat.”

He’d started toward her then, but she stopped him. “Stay back, Ned,” she’d said almost sharply. Then she’d smiled and softened her voice. “The boys are still feverish, although I think they will likely start to improve tomorrow. You’ve come this far without falling ill. If we are nearly through this plague, you shouldn’t put yourself at any increased risk now.”

It had sounded like sense to him, and so he had remained in the doorway, regardless of how he’d wished to hold her. Now, of course, he realized she’d already known she was ill and hadn’t told him, damn her. They’d spoken together a bit more, and she’d promised to get some sleep before he left her there.

The maid had found her collapsed on the floor of the boys’ room the next morning, flecks of blood staining the front of her gown.

“Are you quite certain you wish to do this, my lord?” Luwin asked him now. “It . . .may not be easy for you to see Lady Stark suffer.”

“Was it easy for her to stay by our children in their suffering, Maester Luwin?” he demanded. The words were angrier than he intended them to be, and he tried to soften the next ones. It was not Maester Luwin he was angry with. “Show me what to do, and I will stay by her. Until she is recovered.”

“My lord . . .”

“She will recover, Maester Luwin. Show me what to do.”

The maester simply nodded. “You see I have her raised up on several pillows. There is fluid in her lungs which makes it more difficult for the air to pass.” Ned’s face must have revealed at least some of his panic then, for the man quickly added, “It is not enough to cause her to strangle . . .not now. But she does breathe easier raised up. If her breathing becomes more labored, raise her up more. If she begins to cough, raise her up. There will likely be blood when she coughs, my lord. It is of no particular concern unless you see a great deal of it.”

 _No particular concern,_ Ned thought. _You tell my wife will bleed from her lungs and I am not to be concerned_. He said nothing, though, simply tightening the muscles of his jaw and continuing to listen to the man’s instructions.

“If she wakes enough to drink on her own, give her water, but do not force it. Choking would not be good for her now. Also if she wakes, sit her up and use your hands to pound upon her back like this.” The maester came to stand behind Ned and began hitting him with cupped hands moving up and down his back.

“Will that not hurt her?” Ned asked in some alarm.

“It will likely be uncomfortable for her, but it will help the fluid move through the lungs. If she coughs more and brings up fluid when you do that, it is a good thing, my lord.”

Ned swallowed and nodded. “Very well. You may go, Maester Luwin.” He looked then to Catelyn’s maid who’d been sitting quietly in a chair beside the bed. “You may go as well. Help the maester with his duties.” “But, milord . . .”

“Go,” he said, more sternly than he meant. He wanted to be alone with his wife just now. He needed to be alone with her. “Check on my children,” he said to her more softly. “The Lady Catelyn would wish you to do that for her.”

The girl nodded.

To Luwin, he said, “Leave someone outside the door that I might send to you if she has need of you, Maester.”

The maester looked at him sadly, but nodded. “Send for me whenever you wish and I will come, Lord Stark. I only wish there were more I could do for her.”

“She will recover.”

The man frowned but gave a very small nod, and then he and the maid both left Catelyn’s room. Ned did not move from where he stood until they were gone. Then he walked to the bed, seated himself in the chair the maid had vacated and stared at his unconscious wife.

Her cheeks remained unnaturally bright, and he knew her fever still burned. Her auburn hair was a tangled mess upon the pillow beneath her. He could see the slight inward tugging of the skin above her breast bone with every breath she took and knew it to be a sign of increased effort. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek and nearly cried out at how hot she felt. “Cat . .” he said, his voice choking on the word.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hearing in his mind her admonishment not to risk becoming ill himself but not caring. “Cat,” he whispered. “You will recover. You must recover. I shall never forgive you if you leave me, my love.” His voice nearly broke then, and he simply sat silently for a moment, taking her hand between both of his and closing his eyes in prayer.

“Ned?”

His eyes flew open at the sound of his name uttered in a hoarse, barely audible whisper. He found her blue eyes staring up toward him, seeming somewhat unfocused. Her brow was wrinkled in confusion.

“Cat, my love, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I should never have let you . . .”

“Ned?” she said again, and her eyes moved around the room as if searching for something.

“Cat, I’m here.”

She didn’t respond and continued to look around the room with a confused, frightened expression on her face. He realized she was delirious, and it terrified him to see her like this. She had told him how Arya and both older boys had suffered bouts of delirium but he hadn’t imagined how terrible it must have been for her.

“Ned! I can’t find you! Where are you?” The words would have been shouted if she’d had the breath, but in her current state, they came out barely above a whisper and were followed by a violent coughing spasm that brought spittle and blood to her lips.

Seized by panic, he grabbed her and pulled her completely upright, moving to seat himself behind her on the bed, holding her as the coughs racked her body. When the coughing finally subsided, she continued to call out his name periodically, but made no response to anything he said.

He remained on the bed holding her in front of him as she did not fight him, and it was easier to manage her coughing fits that way. He grabbed a cloth from beside the bed with which he wiped the blood and mucus from her mouth and chin when she coughed. He recalled what Maester Luwin had told him and leaned her forward to beat his hands lightly upon her back. She cried out as if in pain the first time he did it, and he nearly stopped, but he remembered the maester saying it would help clear the fluid that choked her and so he continued.

“I’m sorry, Cat, I’m sorry,” he mumbled repeatedly as he continued his ministrations. She coughed vigorously, and he found himself cleaning a large amount of thick sputum from the bedding in front of her. After that, she did seem to breathe a bit easier, though, and he gently eased her back down onto her pillows, although he remained on the bed beside her rather than returning to the chair, stroking her face, holding her hand, and telling her things he had never spoken out loud.

She remained like that for the next three days. She would cry out, usually his name or one of the children’s. Sometimes she cried out for her father or brother or sister. Once, he even heard her cry out for her own mother who’d been dead since Cat was just a girl, and it broke his heart in two.

Maester Luwin came regularly to see to Catelyn whom he said was at least no worse, and to bring messages concerning all matters of business in the castle to Ned. Ned forced his mind to attend to the man’s words and he gave orders and instructions, but he refused to leave his lady wife’s bedside.

“Your children wish to see you, my lord,” Luwin told him on the second day. “I cannot let them in here as sick as Lady Catelyn is. You should go to them.”

“I will go to them when I can tell them their mother recovers,” Ned said flatly. “That is what they wish to hear.”

“They wish to see you,” Luwin insisted.

Ned felt the guilt stab at his heart. The children were frightened, he was certain. He should comfort them. Yet, when he contemplated moving from beside Catelyn’s bed, walking away from her and leaving her chambers, that icy hand gripped his heart again. What if something happened to her? _She will recover._ The maester still refused to say that she would, but Ned refused to believe otherwise. _I should go to the children._ But what if she needed him? He felt almost as if he were holding her in this world with him, that if he left her even for a moment, she might slip away. He thought of how more than half the people in the castle seemed to be wearing the black of mourning. _That will not be me. That will not be our children. She will recover._ He couldn’t leave her. He bid the maester have both Septa Mordane and Old Nan keep close watch on the children and tell them that he would come to them as soon as their mother was better.

On the morning of the fourth day, he woke to the sound of his name. “Ned.”

Startled, he sat up. He’d been dozing in the chair by her bed. “I’m here, Cat,” he said, as he always did when she called out in her delirium. “You’re all right.”

“You look terrible,” she said softly, and he realized she was actually looking at him.

“Cat? You know me?” His heart pounded in his chest.

She gave him a weak smile. “I should hope I know you, my lord. I am your wife, after all.” The last words ended in a painful spasm of coughs, and he quickly moved to raise and support her until it passed.

“It . . .hurts to breathe,” she rasped.

“It’s all right, my love. Breathe easy. Just lie back against me,” he told her, pulling her against his chest.

“You shouldn’t be here. You can’t get sick, Ned. You have too much to do.” Her breathing grew heavier with her attempts to talk and he shushed her.

“I have nothing to do except be here with you,” he said firmly. “Don’t talk, Cat. Just rest.” Then he remembered that she’d had nothing to drink really for days, and he reached for the cup at the bedside. “Here,” he said, holding it to her lips. “You need to drink this.”

“Hurts,” she said, after taking a drink.

“Drink it anyway.”

She did. Slowly and painfully, she got it all down. “I feel dizzy,” she told him, and he eased her back down on the pillows. “The children . . .”

“They are well. You saw them through their trial, my lady, and they are all recovered.” She closed her eyes and sighed at that. “I’m cold,” she said then, and he realized that her skin was starting to feel too warm again to his touch.

Unsure of which of the herbs on the table the maester gave her for fever, he called for the man outside to fetch Luwin, and then he put his arms around Catelyn who had begun to shiver rather violently.

By the time the maester arrived, she was barely coherent, but he managed to get some potion down her before easing her back down to sleep.

“I thought she was better,” Ned said, his voice hollow. “She knew me. She asked after the children.”

“That is a hopeful sign, my lord,” Maester Luwin said. “But she is far too ill to recover in four days, I am afraid. If her lungs get no worse over the next two to three days, it is very likely she will survive, Lord Stark.”

“Of course, she will survive,” Ned snapped. He had slept little and eaten less since Catelyn took ill, and he knew he was short tempered with everyone.

“My lord,” said Luwin gravely. “I have much more hope for Lady Catelyn’s survival than I did when she first fell ill, but more than three quarters of the people who’ve gotten this form of the illness have died. And you must know that even those who survive will likely not be truly well for a long time. None of them have fully recovered yet, and I fear the damage to the lungs may be permanent.”

“What are you saying?” Ned growled.

“I do not wish to take away your hope, my lord,” Luwin said, shaking his head. “I only wish you to prepare yourself. It is possible that Lady Catelyn may never be as she was even if she does survive. She may not recover sufficient strength and wind to move about as she once did or spend time outdoors here. The climate of the North is not kind to those whose lungs are weak.”

 _The climate of the North,_ Ned thought darkly. It was summer now, but the contagion had appeared in the midst of a cold snap that had brought summer snows as heavy as those normally seen in late autumn. _She is of the south, and I brought her here to sicken._

“She will recover,” he said stubbornly. “She will be well.” Then he turned his back on Luwin and went again to sit beside the bed and hold the hand of his sleeping wife.

The maester said nothing more and after a moment left the room.

She was coherent nearly every time she awakened the next day, and on the day after that she somehow got him to admit that he hadn’t seen the children in some days, and she became furious with him. He was actually thrilled to see the angry spark in those blue eyes which had been so lifeless for so long, but when her angry words led to a coughing fit producing more blood than he’d seen in days, he panicked and shouted for the maester.

When her coughing and labored breathing finally eased enough that he and Luwin could lay her once more back onto the pillows, Ned began breathing again. She lay on the bed, weak and exhausted, staring up at him. “Ned,” she finally said softly. “Go to the children.”

“Cat . . .” he started.

Tears came to her eyes. Luwin had told him tears were a positive thing. They meant that Catelyn was finally taking in sufficient liquid to make them, but he hated to see her cry all the same. “Ned,” she said softly. “I know. I promise not to die while you are gone.”

“Cat!” he said, startled.

She bit her lip, and a tear slid down over her cheek. “I know, my love. I promise not to die while you are gone. Go to our children.”

He swallowed hard, recalling how she’d not left the children’s rooms all the days of their illness until she’d fallen too ill to even remain conscious herself. She did know. He nodded. “I will hold you to that promise, my lady.” His voice sounded thick. “I know you to be a woman of your word.”

She half smiled even as she closed her eyes. “I’m sleepy, Ned. But I am not dying. Not now. Go to them so I can sleep easier.”

He did as she asked, and found himself overwhelmed with both love and guilt at the way the children flung themselves at him, overjoyed to see him. They all looked physically stronger than they had when he’d last seen them, and all but Jon and baby Bran asked countless questions about Catelyn. He assured them that their mother was getting better and that she had, in fact, sent him to them because she wanted to know all about them. When he left them to return to Catelyn’s bedside, he found it as difficult to tear himself away from his children as it had been to tear himself away from his wife.

Vayon Poole met him in the corridor as he returned to Catelyn’s room.

“Lord Stark! Are you going to your solar? There are any number of things that we need to discuss . . .”

“I am going to Lady Catelyn’s chambers, Vayon,” Ned said, cutting him off. “If you truly have need of me, you may find me there. If you merely seek approval for household expenditures or such things as that, know that I trust your judgment.”

The steward pursed his lips, but said nothing more. “Very well, my lord.”

Her fever broke for good on the ninth day. She began taking small amounts of solid food, and while she still coughed so forcefully Ned feared it would rip her too thin body into pieces, she no longer coughed up blood, and Luwin pronounced that her lungs had begun to sound clearer.

He’d been taking one meal with the children every day since that first visit, and each time he left her, she’d promised him she would not die in his absence. On this day, she did the same, and he smiled at her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before leaving her side. He went to the children with a promise that as long as their mother’s fever did not return, they would be allowed to see her on the morrow and was rewarded with exuberant shouts of glee.

When he returned to Catelyn’s room, she was waiting for him, impatiently demanding to know all the children had said. He thought she was more anxious for the morrow than they were. After they finished discussing the children, she grew serious.

“Ned,” she said. “You need to stop spending all your time here.”

“I have nothing else that . . .”

“But you do,” she interrupted. “You are the Lord of Winterfell. You have a duty to . . .”

“Do you suggest that I am failing in my duty, my lady?” he asked, nearly becoming angry at her.

“No,” she said softly. “Should anything occur that could not be handled without you, you would go and see to it.” She smiled at him. “You would not like it, but you would do it.” Frowning again, she continued, “But I fear that others may not see that. You must be seen about the castle, my love. You must handle your correspondence in your solar. You should meet with Vayon and with Ser Rodrik and every man who has a position here. Let them know that you are aware of what takes place and that you do oversee it all.”

“I care not what men may think when I know the truth of a thing.”

She laughed which caused her to cough. “I know,” she said, when she’d caught her breath. “That’s why I have to care about it for you.” She shook her head at him and reached out to take both of his hands as he sat beside her on her bed. “I am not going to die of this, my love. But I am not going to be truly well for some time. You cannot remain in this chamber until I am well enough to leave it. You cannot.”

He swallowed and looked at her, trying to decide how to put what he needed to say into words. “I have not always done right by you, my lady,” he began.

She started to protest, and he squeezed her hands. “You know it to be true, Cat. Do not say otherwise, and do not believe that I am not aware of the ways in which I have failed you.”

She was silent then, biting her lip, and he knew she thought of Jon Snow. “I rarely thank you for all that you do, my lady. In truth, a great deal of the questions I’ve been presented with during your illness are questions which normally would have fallen to you. I am the Lord of Winterfell, but you are its heart. I should never have left you alone to tend all of our children in their illnesses.”

“You had responsibilities, Ned.”

“As did you. Somehow, you managed to care for the children anyway. And Cat, I truly have been keeping up with the business of the castle while I’ve stayed here with you. I could have done that before, and been more of a help to you with the children.”

She shook her head. “You are the Lord of Winterfell. I am your wife. It is my place to help you.”

He smiled at her. “Family, Duty, Honor. I know better than to argue this point with a Tully, my love. But I would have you know that as much as your place is beside me, my place is beside you. I know that well, Catelyn, even when I do not appear to know it. And I am glad of it.”

She smiled. “I am glad of that as well.” She leaned forward then and kissed him softly before falling back onto the pillows. “Now go to your solar, my lord. Take your evening meal in the Great Hall with your men, and return to me afterward.”

“I . . .”

“I heard all you said, my love. And I do love you for it. But I also fear that Maester Luwin intends to confine me here indefinitely. You cannot continue to stay here so much of every day forever, so you might as well start spending more time outside this room now.” She smiled tiredly. “I need to sleep anyway, and you certainly don’t need to sit here and watch me nap. I promise not to die while you are gone.”

He smiled at the words that had become her habitual farewell promise, kissed both of her hands, and took his leave. In truth, he found that he quite enjoyed being back in his solar and even more sitting in the Great Hall with his children and the people of Winterfell around him. He missed her as if he’d been gone from her for days, but knowing that death no longer stalked her made it at least possible for him to breathe while he was away from her.

When he returned to her room, he found her smiling up at him from her bed. “You look well, my lord. I believe this day has agreed with you.”

“Seeing my beautiful wife smile at me agrees with me,” he responded.

She laughed. “I fear I am far from beautiful at present.”

“You are beautiful,” he assured her. “There is no woman more beautiful in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

She smiled at him. “You are good to say so.”

He sighed, wondering if she would ever believe just how beautiful he found her at all times. “It is good to see you looking stronger.”

She bit her lip. “I am strong enough that I don’t need anyone sitting up and watching over me at night, Ned.”

“Do not tell me to go to my own chambers, Cat, because I . . .”

“No,” she said quickly. “I do not want that.” A slight color came to her cheeks then that had nothing to do with fever. “Maester Luwin says I am not strong enough to . . .to . . .bed you, my lord, but . . .”

“Cat!” he exclaimed. “How can you even think of such a thing? I would not ask you to . . .I want only for you to be well!”

“I know,” she said. “It is only that . . .you must sleep, Ned. You cannot spend every night sitting up. I would . . .have you sleep beside me if you would. I would have your arms around me . . .even if I can’t . . .if it is not too much to ask of you.” Her cheeks were as red as her hair now, and she dropped her blue eyes downward as she finished speaking.

“Cat,” he said softly, taking her hands in his. “Look at me.” She slowly turned her gaze upward to meet his, and he continued. “Ten years, my lady. Ten years, you have been my wife, and I thank the gods for every one of them. I pray that I shall spend another ten, twenty, fifty years--as your husband. Never think for a moment that my arms around you are ever too much for you to ask. To have you in my arms is all that I want.”

She smiled up at him. “Even if I can’t . . .”

“Catelyn, I have already told you that you are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course, I want to bed you. I want to bed you every time I look at you, but I manage to get through all our meals and meetings and afternoons with our children, and all the countless other times I am near you that we are not in your bed without throwing you down and having my way with you, do I not?”

She laughed at him, but he still saw uncertainty in her eyes.

“I can wait, my love. Because I know well how worth the wait you are. And in the mean time, I would rather sleep beside you than without you on any night.”

Without another word, he sat down on his chair and began taking off his boots. When he put out the lantern and slipped into bed beside her, she curled up next to him and sighed contentedly.

He held her tightly and found himself overwhelmed with relief that she truly would recover. And whatever Luwin said, she would recover fully. She was simply too stubborn to do otherwise. “Thank the gods you will not die,” he whispered. “I do not know if I could have lived.”

“Ned,” she said. “I will die, my love. Not tonight. Not from this illness. But I will die--from some other illness, or in childbed, from an injury, or from old, old age. And if I die before you do, you will live.”

“Cat . . .”

“You will because you must. I cannot bear the thought of your dying before me, you know. Every time you leave Winterfell for any length of time, I find it hard to breathe until you return, especially when I know you to be riding into some danger. But I would live, Ned. Our children would need me, and I would live for them. You would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t like it,” he said darkly.

“Nor would I, but Ned, you must promise me that you would live, even if something did happen to me. Will you do that?”

 _I don’t know if I can,_ he thought, lying there in the dark holding her against him. “I promise,” he told her. “But you must promise me something as well.”

“What is that?” she said sleepily.

“Promise you’ll try very hard to die of old age.”

She laughed and moved just enough to lay her head upon his chest. “I promise, “ she said. “And that goes for you, too.”

She fell asleep almost immediately, but Ned lay there a long time feeling the normal warmth of her body against him rather than the fever heat and listening to the sound of her unlabored breathing. _Thank you gods,_ he prayed silently, _for not taking her from me. Please grant us both long years that I may hold her just like this for thousands of nights. And let me never take even one of them for granted._


End file.
